


Warehouse, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-31
Updated: 2001-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 17:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A silly K/Sk apology snippet, in response to a reprimand from Listmom!Te for posting off-topic.





	Warehouse, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Warehouse by Nonie Rider

The Warehouse  
by Nonie Rider ()  
Summary: A silly K/Sk apology snippet, in response to a reprimand from Listmom!Te for posting off-topic. 

* * *

Krycek's breath caught as the thug shoved him roughly forward through the door. A warehouse: bad news. Business tended to be conducted in offices and homes, cars and secluded nooks. Warehouses were for torture or death.

Staring uselessly into the dark space, he failed to see the unevenness of the doorway, and tripped. With his arm taped back like that, he couldn't even catch himself as he fell. One kneecap caught, but not in time to stop his momentum, so he twisted desperately aside to take the impact on his shoulder, not his face. His left shoulder. And the pain jarred all the way down the stump and across his ribs.

Shit. Oh, shit. This was bad.

A match flared in the darkness, and he saw the hated lines of that too-familiar face. Shit. The man drew on his cigarette and held the smoke for a savoring moment before he let it plume into the dark air. His voice was that smiling raspy tenor that haunted Krycek's nightmares.

"Well, well, well. Alex, you've been a bad boy. A very bad boy." He shook his head, savoring Krycek's terror just as he did the smoke.

Krycek tried to get his legs under him, but one of the thugs behind him set a boot-heel lightly on his neck, and he subsided. Other hands bound his ankles together with more duct tape.

"Whh--" Krycek moistened his mouth and tried again. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I?" The light voice was quizzical. "I shall do nothing, my dear boy. That is why I employ others. Myself, I have places to be, but I promise I am leaving you in good hands. You will *not* make this mistake again."

And he tossed his cigarette to the floor near Krycek's face, and ground it out lightly with the toe of his shoe.

Without a look back, he strolled to the warehouse door and out, the thugs falling into place behind him.

In the darkness of the warehouse, Krycek heard a low, ominous chuckle. Then a bright beam of light snapped on and caught him in the eyes, blinding him. Who the hell?

The beam was redirected upward, and Krycek heard the clank as the powerful flashlight was set down to illuminate the area more indirectly. Still blinking, with jagged pain running through his head as his abused eyes ran with involuntary tears, Krycek slowly made out the figure of a man.

A large, balding man. Very large. His jacket was tossed over a nearby steel drum, and he was rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt.

"Skinner! Why--?"

The gravel voice was deep and disturbingly happy. "You might say I owe the bastard a favor. This is what he asked for.

"And I owe you a favor too, Krycek. *Agent* Krycek. I owe you for a lot of things, none of them pleasant. And this time you made one mistake too many.

"That smoking asshole isn't the only one with power around here. And you, Krycek--you stupid, stupid fool--you offended *Te*!"

Skinner dropped to a crouch next to Krycek's bound body. Sitting back on his heels, he tangled his massive hand in Krycek's hair and shook it.

"Working for the KGB wasn't very bright, Krycek. And working for the Consortium was worse. But the worst, the stupidest thing you've ever done--You posted an off-topic message to Nick-Fixx."

Krycek yelped involuntarily as Skinner let go, dropping his head to the cold concrete. "But Skinner--" God, was he pleading? "Skinner, I *AM* Nick. Doesn't that get me any breaks here?"

The older man's smile was pure evil now. "Oh no. Not at all. Nixxers LIKE to see you get beaten up. No way out."

"Skinner, they'll never forgive you if you kill me!"

"Why not? They have before."

The large dark room was cold, the air soundless for a moment. Then, hating himself for it, Krycek heard his voice break. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I'm going to pound you through the floor. And there is not one fucking thing you can do about it."

Krycek remembered Skinner's fist--that one blow to the gut that had wiped him out, left him bruised and hurting for a month. And now, there was no Mulder there to prevent Skinner from continuing until Krycek was nothing but a broken, bloody heap.

And then Skinner's huge hands closed on his belt, and he began to understand what kind of pounding he was in for.

============================

  
Archived: June 21, 2001 


End file.
